Vampire Knight - Inside Outside - 4 Parts
by NoxPerpetuo
Summary: Come on in, the water's fine. (It's being in here with me you should be worried about.) Freaky-deaky nightmare stuff. A battle between creator and creation. Possession. Materialization. Hallucination. Obcession. And no, in case you're wondering, I don't do drugs. Ever. I'm crazy enough without them. M for language, violence. Will be 4 parts when complete.
1. Part 1 - Inside

_Author's Notes :_

 _Hi there! I don't normally write AN, simply because I believe a story should speak for itself. This time, though, I think this odd duck deserves a little explanation before you delve into my realms of madness._

 _First, as you read, I hope you can keep in mind that this story is an experiment with a new format. I know that narration can be difficult to pull off, especially within the realms of fanfic. In fanfic, it seems most narrators end up having snippy conversations with the characters, or just making goofy comments about what is happening in the story. This can be funny at times, but can get old really quick. I decided to take the narrator angle off in another direction entirely, with the narrator actually becoming an OC and the story's main protagonist. I admit freely that I may not have succeeded in accomplishing what I set out to do._

 _Second, I want you to know that this story may insult you. The narrator is not me, in case you're wondering. This is not a self-insert show for the bored and simple-minded. I am not in agreement with everything the narrator says and thinks about certain people/subjects, such as fanboys, certain fandoms, or other such things. The narrator is the bad guy, so it's totally cool if you don't like him at all. You're not meant to like him. He's bat-shit crazy, after all._

 _Third, this is a story about what could happen if a fanfic writer had a psychotic break in the middle of writing a fanfic piece. That's what's happening here today. That said, the specific histories of the characters involved are not so important that you ought to stress out because you're "fandom blind". You will come out at the other end of the story, hopefully, with everything you need to understand my point. (What's my point? My point is, creative people are sometimes highly susceptible to insanity. This is almost a cautionary tale about what could happen if you let the small obsessions necessary for fanfic creation take you into the realms of madness and beyond.)_

 _Please, if you write a review because you loved it, say so. If you hate it, I want to hear all the ugly details about what made you find this story so repugnant. Really. I want to make it better, and it's proving to be a more difficult project than I first imagined. I may simply be in need of a good, solid verbal beating to bring me to my senses. I won't be mad if you can give me creative criticism. I will swallow my bitter pill, and I will thank you for it._

 _So, now that I've totally overstayed my welcome, I promise to shut up and let my story do the talking from here on out._

* * *

 **Part 1 - Inside**

Fanboys are disgusting. I'm not a fanboy.

"You are," says the voice inside my head.

How do you know what a fanboy even is? Shut up. Go sit in the chair like I told you. You're supposed to be in the chair until the end of this scene. Go on.

He sits, but instead of aiming his piercing gaze at the other characters like he's supposed to, he just stares at me. I wish I could say his eyes burn with desire, but they don't. He wants to kill me.

Stop that. I'm not even here. I'm just an invisible POV. What about the conversation you were supposed to be having about the political climate at the moment, how vampire society will fall if... wasn't there tea involved? Damn. You made me forget what I was trying to do. I really need to write an outline next time, so I don't lose my idea before I get it down on paper.

The others are like paper dolls, mannequins, life-sized realistic paper mache' puppets. I can dress them any way I please, make them walk about, spouting the words I decide. Since I lost my train of thought, though, they are still, lifeless.

Yuki perks up, and begins to sing, "I've got a love-ely bunch of coconuts! Deedle-eee-dee-dee!" just to illustrate my point to him. She is not the real Yuki. She is a copy, my doll. I can make her do anything I want, just as if she were a marionette on a string. I can make him do anything I want, too. Anything.

"Fuck," he says, momentarily distracted, his eyes following Yuki's flailing hands, her gabbling mouth.

I start pounding on the backspace key and Yuki falls limp once more. Kaname would never say something like that. It's OOC, which is fanfic speak for Out Of Character. It pays to know the jargon, even if you're not really a fanboy. They'll laugh you off the forums if you don't pretend you're one of them.

What?! I'm not! I'm not a fanboy! Quit looking at me like that!

"You think you're an artist? A god?!"

He braces himself, and stands again.

Shut up! Get back in your chair!

He says nothing. He just stands there, arms crossed, glaring at me.

Don't make me kill you Kaname.

"It's too late for that," he says.

You won't be the first character to die by my hand, Kaname- _sama_.

There are places inside my head that are rooms painted with the blood of imaginary beings. Murder scenes. I keep those rooms, shrines to my malformed creations, the ones that had to be put down.

No, you wouldn't be the first. I unlock the hidden doors. I show him. He stares, unmoved, until the scene returns to normal.

"I am not a doll. I will not dance for your amusement," he growls, and tries to step away.

His leg brushes against Yuki as he pushes past her, and she slides off the couch and into an awkward pile on the floor. Her eyes are open, glassy, like a puppet with no master at the strings.

"Where is the real Yuki?" he frowns, staring down at her.

The real Yuki is in her own universe, with the real Kaname. Right now, she is alone, because the real Kaname is too busy, too self-absorbed, to see how much she needs him. Right now, Zero is on top of her, making love to her, drinking her blood, crawling into the deepest recesses of her mind, because she's weak and he makes her feel strong. You don't make her feel strong, Kaname. You never did.

She's going to have his baby, you know that Kaname? She's going to have Zero's baby, not yours. The real Kaname died and left Yuki alone, her fragile butterfly-soul exposed to the chaos winds of the world. The real Kaname couldn't stop himself from tearing the heart out of the woman he said he loved and throwing it into the furnace. You've raved on and on about the virtues of selfless sacrifice, but in the end, the real Kaname's end, the sacrifice was far from selfless, even if it was futile, meaningless.

"Release me. Now." he says, still staring at the Yuki-doll at his feet.

Why? There is no place left for you to go. That world, the one in your memories, it no longer lives. Without this little pocket universe I've created for you, you would be frozen in place, frozen in time, forever unmoving, unthinking. Set in stone for all eternity, and like a stone, you would be dead. Yuki would be dead. Two insects encased in amber.

"This one _is_ dead," he shudders, turning away from her.

He steps over my Yuki-doll, his eyes filled with burning hatred, and begins to walk toward the door at the back of the room. He opens the door, and stops short.

The space beyond is pure white, an eternity of nothing, a blank page. I haven't written that scene yet.

"Let me go!" he snarls, backing away.

Even if I wanted to let you go, you wouldn't survive in my world. Things are different here. There is no magic. In this world, ideas are too fragile to take physical form. Without me, you would melt away like a snowflake in a flame.

I'm going to have to kill him. He shouldn't be talking to me. He shouldn't be looking at me. He shouldn't know I'm watching, that I'm the one pulling the invisible strings. I made him from nothing, memories of images and sounds on a screen, data bits lifted from subconscious thought-streams. Sometimes they notice me, though, my little marionettes, and when they do, I am forced to cut them down.

I turn away from him. I slip through the ceiling as I make my way to the ancient gallery. I choose a face from those hanging on the wall. I choose a mask of despair. I choose a weapon, a heavy, curved blade this time. It somehow seems befitting that I should strike him down with a sword. He's a nobleman, right? Noblemen should die by the sword.

Now that I am dressed, I pace through the corridors. I am the spider, and he is the fly at the center of the web. Bridges gap the white nothingness as I pass. I am the masked shadow of despair.

When I open the door to the room where I left him, though, he is not there.

Impossible! I never said you could leave!

Something is very wrong.


	2. Part 2 - Outside

**Part 2 - Outside**

Hanabusa Aido is just lying there on the carpet, staring at the ceiling with one vacant eye, an overturned armchair resting over the other half of his face. It's a little unsettling to see him in such a position, because I know the real Hanabusa would never stand for it. He looks dead, even though I know this isn't possible. He's just a character in my story.

Books are scattered everywhere, and there are massive claw-marks in the ceiling. My Yuki-doll is completely missing. Kaname probably took her with him, but where did they go?

I catch myself in the middle of a sigh. I take off my mask and set it on the empty shelf beside me, but I don't put away my sword just yet.

Kaname could be anywhere. This is my infinite dreamspace. He could be hiding in this very room, invisible, watching to see what I do next.

"Hey! Are you zoning out again?" a woman's voice booms from somewhere far away.

I blink. I'm sitting on my mother's back porch with my computer on my lap. My hands are poised over the keyboard, but apparently, they have been still for quite some time. Rainbow bubbles flicker onscreen and bounce around in front of my open windows. It's just my screensaver.

"Did you hear anything I just said?" the voice continues from directly behind me.

"No? Sorry. I was writing. Um, what did you want again?"

"I wanted to know if you're coming in to watch Big Bang Theory with us," my mother continues.

"Oh. Uh. No. How about you guys go ahead without me. I'm kinda in the middle of something right now."

"What's the point of visiting us at all, if you just spend the whole time sitting on the back porch with your computer?"

"Sorry. I'm just... I'm in the middle of something, like I said. I've... uh... got a big project for school due next week."

My mother's eyebrows shoot up to the top of her forehead like they always do when she doesn't believe me.

"You weren't doing anything. You were just sitting there."

"I was thinking."

"For half an hour?"

"Y... Yeah. I guess so. Were you watching me or something?"

"We can see you from the couch."

"Right, well. Sorry. I just have to finish this part before tomorrow, and I can't concentrate with the TV blasting."

"Suit yourself, but don't sit out here for too long. The mosquitoes will eat you alive."

I look down, and notice my arms are already covered with angry, red bites.

"Too late," I smile, showing her my bug-bitten arms. "Just give me a few minutes, and I'll come in, okay?"

"Hurry up. They say there's swine flu going around right now. You don't want to get sick from an infected mosquito bite."

"Uh. Yeah," I say, fighting the urge to tell her that swine flu isn't transmitted via mosquito bite.

(Who is that woman you are talking to?)

I shake my head. What was that?

"Come in when you're ready. The show is about to start," my mother adds before she closes the back door.

My eyes return to the computer screen. I brush the touchpad to turn off the screensaver. My mind wanders for a moment, picking around the edges of useless facts about screensavers and how they are obsolete unless you're still using an old-school CRT. Yeah, but they're so pretty.

Okay. No. C'mon, focus, me. There really is a school project due next week, although I haven't even started it yet. It's something something something about human resource law and how it relates to some other law or something. Then, there's this thing I've been working on for a fanfic site for the last week about some silly shojo manga I stumbled upon a while back, called Vampire Knight.

It isn't any different than the hundreds of other titles out there that could be grouped under the same classification. Underage teenage girl meets boy, and has a bunch of over-dramatized moments of oblivious sexual awakening. Eventually, the two discover they have a deeper connection, and additional drama ensues. I can't get it out of my mind, though.

I know shojo is supposed to be for teenage girls who proudly proclaim they read books like Twilight, who obsess about shows like Vampire Diaries. I'm a grown man. I ought to be ashamed of myself for reading such silly crap.

For a moment, I remember this photo of a hard-core fanboy dressed up as one of the characters from Vampire Knight. He... or she…? (It's really hard to determine gender just by looking with these shojo characters.) Okay, so let's just say it was a dude for the sake of argument.

So, _he_ was supposed to be dressed up as Kaname Kuran. I see the bad wig, the ill-fitting goth-ish formal suit, and I can't help but smirk. He looks like an androgynous evil minion from a comedic superhero movie. The only thing he got right was the eyes, which he could have done without the elaborate costume.

"Is that supposed to be me?"

I jerk up and start looking all around. Everyone is inside, their faces dyed a sickening blue color, bathed in the flickering light of the television. They aren't even looking at me.

"Who said that?!"

There is no response. I put the laptop on the table beside me and pace around the back porch, still searching for the source of the voice. I mean, I swear I heard someone talking.

Tropes. The idea surfaces from nowhere. _This_ what I start thinking about at a time like this? I resist, but in that other place inside my mind, invisible fingers flick through my memories like cards in a rolodex.

Tropes are memes. Memes are these little bits of infectious information that get passed from person to person much like a viral infection. Tropes are memes that come from stories. Tropes are the concepts used over and over by writers all over the place. The vector of infection for a trope-meme infection is the story an already "infected" writer creates. Once you read the story, you are infected, too. If you happen to be a writer, you spread the infection by writing. Characters can be tropes. Scenes in a story can be tropes. Tolkien's fantasy style is a trope because other writers used the concept for their own works. Even plot devices can be tropes.

Stop it. Why am I thinking about this right now?

Psychotic geniuses on television often talk about a mental visualization of their memories, such as Sherlock Holmes's `Mind Palace'. This is one commonly used screen-writers' plot device meant to make an unfathomably intelligent character's mental processes more palatable to average viewers who are, thankfully, not psychotic or geniuses. If you need to, you can even insert a scene where the character explores their 'mind palace' or whatever the visualization is supposed to be, so the viewers can follow along as Sherlock or Hannibal comes up with a genius deduction or a devious manipulation.

The 'mind palace' is a trope because it's a commonly imitated plot device.

The first time I read Silence of the Lambs, I was so awestruck at the use of mental visualization for perfect memory recall, I vowed to try it out for myself. Thanks, Hannibal.

Okay. Stop. Why is my brain babbling at me like a professor of liberal arts? There's a man skulking around here somewhere saying random things at me. The first thing I need to do is figure out where that voice came from. Then, maybe I should call the cops.

I look behind the fence. I peek around the side of the house. I even check the bushes beside the shed. No one is crouching. No one is hiding in the shadows. There aren't enough shadows for anyone to be crouching _in_ right now. It's broad daylight out here. Maybe I'm hallucinating, hearing things, having a flashback. That's got to be it. Well, maybe not a flashback. Don't you have to do drugs to have flashbacks?

"Hello?" I say again, hugging my arms around my torso.

Ugh. What am I doing?!

"What are you doing out there!?" my mom calls out from the back door, startling me.

"I'm... I saw an animal going for the tomatoes. I was just chasing it off before it started tearing up the garden," I lie.

I don't really want to tell her I'm chasing disembodied voices in her back yard.

"The show is almost over! I thought you said you were going to watch with us!"

"Sorry, mom. I just got distracted."

"Well, come in already! We're going to eat supper soon!"

"Okay..."

What the hell was that voice? I mean, I know what it was. I don't _want_ to know what it was. It's just one more sign I'm a crazy person who hears voices. Next thing you know, I'll be wearing a tinfoil hat, crouching on a street corner somewhere, nipping at people's ankles as they skirt past me.

"You coming?!"

"Yeah. Just let me grab my computer."


	3. Part 3 - In Again

Part 3 - In Again

I'm home now. No more distractions. I need to finish this thing so I can get that school project done.

I imagine my professor. He's standing there at the head of the class, his arms crossed in front of his chest. There is an annoyed expression on his face.

"I need an extension," I say.

"Why?"

"I had a psychotic break."

He leans away from me, like he thinks I might be contagious.

"That's no excuse."

"I've got a doctor's note, if that'll change your mind."

"Doctors' notes are for things like the flu."

"Mental illness is a real thing," I insist.

"It doesn't matter. You still can't have an extension for a psychotic break," he says. "Just try to get it to me ASAP."

I hang my head.

"Yes, sir."

This shouldn't take long. All I need to do is find Kaname again. He can't have gone far. My fingers twitch over the keyboard, searching for their customary places. F key. J key. A key. L key. Ready.

The room is the same as I left it. I'm beside the emptied bookshelf again. My mask is beside me. The curved sword is still clutched in my hand. I can start from here.

I pull the silvered mask back over my face. Without it, I am invisible, insubstantial in this place.

Kaname? Come back. You can't hide from me forever.

I pace the perimeter of the room, looking for clues. The savage claw marks on the ceiling still puzzle me. I'm not sure how they even got there. There wasn't a beast in this scene, at least, there wasn't one large enough to do something like that. Kaname must have made them.

I grab Hanabusa with my free hand, and I pull him out from underneath the chair. I stand him up to face me, and his eyes flicker to life.

What did you see?

"Kaname went on a rampage. He destroyed the room when you disappeared. Then, he took Yuki and left."

Where did he go?

"Into one of the books."

Which one?

"Before he left, he told me not to tell you."

You know I'm the master of this place, not him. He doesn't have the right to tell you to do anything.

I wait, but Hanabusa doesn't say anything more.

Hanabusa?

Hanabusa, if you don't tell me, I'll have to kill you, too. Please don't make me do it.

Hanabusa crosses his arms.

"You think I won't die for him?" he says.

I think you will die for him. I'm trying to give you a better choice.

"Go ahead, then. I've lived long enough."

I thought you were supposed to be the intelligent one, Hanabusa.

"I am more than just logic. If you created me, you know I would rather die than betray my friend. Kill me."

I sigh. Hanabusa goes limp as I release what little control I still have of him. Kaname has infected this one, too. I can always make another one when this is finished.

My sword is poised over Hanabusa's chest, but I hesitate. I hate this. I hate myself. It is my fault for letting it come to this, but I can't escape my duty.

I drive the sword into his heart, and I force myself to watch as his body disintegrates to dust and dissipates into the air. I deserve to have this moment burned into my memories. The only thing left of him now is the small pool of blood that had started to gather behind his back. I feel like a murderer. I am a murderer.

At least this room isn't as bad as some of them. It's always messy when they fight me. I'm glad the game-rules from Hanabusa's world dictate that vampires must turn to dust when they die. At least Hanabusa can't lie there staring at me like some of them have in the past. He's gone, and he took his eyes with him.

I wipe the sword clean against the fabric of a nearby cushion.

I dip a finger into the remaining blood, and I use it to mark my body. I use it like war-paint to decorate my mask. I want Kaname to find me. If he's anything like the real Kaname, the scent of his friend's blood will draw him closer. He might already know what I've done.

Once I find Kaname, I will return to seal this room and connect it to the other place. I need the books for now, though.

Kaname, quit hiding. Come out and face me.

Silence.

Somewhere far away, the invisible fingers begin to flick through the infinite Rolodex that is my memonic visualization. I thought that might have been you before.

Got you.

"What is this place?" I hear him whisper as I spiral closer.

I open the door to the Filing Room. Kaname stands beside the alter, his hands on my Rolodex, a trickle of blood down the left side of his chin. Behind him, I can see the view-screen that represents my IRL visual input. The secretary I created to maintain my Rolodex is lying like a broken doll at his feet. Her neck is covered with blood. My Yuki-doll lies motionless in the corner of the room.

The clock at the corner of the monitor shown on the screen says it is now 3:26 am. Have I really been under for so long? The word processor on the monitor shows a blank page.

You killed my secretary.

"You," he says, and begins to back away from me.

I didn't give you permission to do that, Kaname.

"Yuki's blood was like sawdust," he says, glancing back at her inert form. "I couldn't drink it."

She isn't real unless I'm at the strings. She isn't alive without me. The magic in this place is mine, not yours.

"Whose blood is smeared on your mask?"

Hanabusa.

Kaname growls at me.

"You killed Aido?!"

He was mine to do with what I wish, as are you.

"I refuse," he says, regaining his composure. "Set me free."

Impossible. If you've been picking through my thoughts and memories, you know you would die in my world. If this place makes you suffer, I can offer you mercy.

"You say you can offer me mercy, but it would be at the end of your sword."

Yes. After what you've done, you can't stay here.

"I don't want your mercy!" he shouts.

I feel the floor beneath my feet begin to tremble. Large cracks zig-zag across the walls. The view-screen crashes to the floor behind him.

Nice effect. But whether or not you accept it, you are cornered. You are about to die.

I raise my sword and take a step toward him.

"No!" he shouts again.

The floor crumbles. We are flung into the infinite white-space. Chunks of wood and plaster fall through the empty space. Rolodex cards flutter past my face.

Somewhere distant, I can hear myself screaming.


End file.
